Posts Tagged ‘Shel Silverstein’

In case you missed the memo, I recently got back from a 10-day vacay at Topsail Beach, NC (with the majority of my mother’s extended family, who all hail from “Little” Washington, NC. If you’re not familiar with this gem of a town in Eastern North Carolina, that is another story for another, more profane day). From said vacay I received the following: a sunburn, heightened blood pressure, approx. 7 extra pounds, assorted freckles, a feather/tinsel hairpiece that is a lot cooler than it sounds, a small, single ear piercing that is ALSO a lot cooler than it sounds, a handful of hangovers and a partridge in a pear tree.

And in the words of Miley Cyrus, it was “pretty cool!” (sidenote: I LOVE THIS SKIT – WATCH IT).

Srsly. All in all, we had a superfun time, everyone (mostly) got along (which was nothing short of miracle), and the icing on the cake was being able to share it all with A Painted Shel’s illustrator HERSELF (Erin) and bestie/Bon Iver-loving Elaine! In between my friends and family, the sun and the sand, the copious amounts of free food and booze, the general lack of New York-y obligations … Suddenly, I found myself in The Land of Happy (from L to R: Elaine, Erin, Me).

“The Land of Happy” from Where the Sidewalk Ends

Have you been to the land of happy,
Where everyone’s happy all day,
Where they joke and they sing
Of the happiest things,
And everything’s jolly and gay?
There’s no one unhappy in Happy
There’s laughter and smiles galore.
I have been to The Land of Happy -
What a bore.

- Shel Silverstein

But yeah, I mean, after 10 days of all that happy, who wouldn’t want to come back to The Land of Grumpy? Angry New Yorkers are where it’s AT! They my peoples now.

Oops! I did it again. I played with your heart. Got lost in the game. Oo baby, baby! I’ve been a bad, bad girl. I’ve been careless with a delicate man. And apparently my body has been inhabited by a throwback teenager. It’s all because Teen Nick is re-airing every single 90′s sitcom that defined my childhood. This just set me back like, 10 years. But you know what? I’m fine with that. I’m comfortable with my level of maturity, as displayed by A Painted Shel. Which I have again neglected, despite Erin always being on time. I’m not always there when you call, but I’m always on time, and I gave you my all, now baby be mine. ACK.

So anyways, I asked Erin to choose this week’s selection and I wanted it to mean something to her. Something really special, you know? Below please find the actual text of the email that accompanied her illustration:

Since you suggested I choose a poem that has meaning to me and since A Painted Shel is a throwback to childhood, i OBVIOUSLY chose the one about picking your nose. This adorable habit has been a life-long passion of mine, as I was an avid public picker until the age of 7….okay 12. Unfortunately, history has started repeating itself and I’m a public picker again. You’re welcome New York. (Side bar: I tried to find one that also incorporated peeing the bed because I know that was your “thing” as a youth, but alas, no luck.)

Did anyone else just get chills?

Thanks for sharing your special hobby, Erin! More on my “thing” another day. Today is Erin’s day! Please enjoy “Warning:”

“Warning” from Where the Sidewalk Ends

Inside everybody’s nose
There lives a sharp-toothed snail.
So if you stick your finger in,
He may bite off your nail.
Stick it farther up inside,
And he may bite your ring off.
Stick it all the way, and he
May bite the whole darn thing off.

Truth time: I was supposed to post this a week ago. And to give credit where credit is due, Erin had this gem to me on Tuesday night. That is commitment, people. However, I was busy seeing Ratatat at Central Park Summerstage last Wednesday night AND packing for All Good Music Festival on a real live mountaintop in West Virginia. Sorry I’m not sorry.

Truth time part deux: I had to rewrite that entire paragraph after remembering that A Painted Shel is supposed to be a childlike sanctuary filled with magic and wonder and puppies and butterflies. And that dropping f-bombs and see-you-next-Tuesdays as a prelude to “Dancing Pants” would tarnish that virginal glow. Changing my daily dialect has been a major challenge. But its a challenge I’m willing to accept. Only on Wednesdays. For the kids. TRICK LOVE THE KIDS!

But my excuses served a purpose, and today’s selection was chosen to commemorate 5 straight days of DANCING MY PANTS OFF. Which I did. And it was awesome. Although, I have been back for 2 days now and am still struggling to recover. I need an adult. And/or a Vicodin. So, without further ado, I give you, “Dancing Pants”!

“Dancing Pants” from Where the Sidewalk Ends

And now for the Dancing Pants,
Doing their fabulous dance.
From the seat to the pleat
They will bounce to the beat,
With no legs inside them
And no feet beneath.
They’ll whirl, and twirl, and jiggle and prance,
So just start the music
And give them a chance-
Let’s have a big hand for the wonderful, marvelous,
Super sensational, utterly fabulous,
Talented Dancing Pants!

Okay so since Erin and I are both like, super-obsessed with Game of Thrones and THE KHALEESI (obvi), this week’s A Painted Shel is another homage to the baddest biatch east of the Narrow Sea.

And what better way to show our love for both children’s poetry AND fantasy fiction, than with a poem about a monstatruckin’ DRAGON! (Look, I promised a break from profanity in these posts, so welcome to Parental Advisory Parry.)

Today’s selection: “The Dragon of Grindly Grun” from A Light in the Attic:

I’m the Dragon of Grindly Grun,
I breathe fire as hot as the sun.
When a knight comes to fight
I just toast him on sight,
Like a hot crispy cinnamon bun.

When I see a fair damsel go by,
I just sigh a fiery sigh,
And she’d baked like a ‘tater-
I think of her later
With a romantic tear in my eye.

I’m the Dragon of Grindly Grun,
But my lunches aren’t very much fun,
For I like my damsels medium rare,
and they always come out well done.

- Shel Silverstein

(Also: For scale of skill, below please find my attempt at a “tater” and “cinnamon bun” — I am fully aware they both look like excrement and that the tater appears to be sprouting pubes. Which reminds me that it’s time for a wax. TMI?! We’ll talk about that later.)

So in an attempt to provide ya’ll with a break from my profane rants (not that you asked for it, but I’m giving it to you because that’s just the kind of person I am), I’m teaming up with my superneat friend, Erin, to bring you “A Painted Shel”. Every Wednesday, instead of making some childish joke about it being Hump Day and how I want to hump or have humped or just want to use the word hump because I think it’s severely neglected, I’m going to share a Shel Silverstein poem with you guys, and Erin will be showcasing her corresponding artwork via Paintbrush. This is also an attempt at reclaiming my child-like innocence. PSH! Good luck with that. HELLO, I CAN HEAR YOU!

Today’s selection: “Early Bird” from Where The Sidewalk Ends:

Oh, if you’re a bird, be an early bird
And catch the worm for your breakfast plate.
If you’re a bird, be an early bird–
But if you’re a worm, sleep late.